Typist #2 - Spanking the Billionaire Novelist Read Online Free Page A

picked up the fork and stabbed at the spiny lettuce I usually left behind, then stuffed it in my mouth. Why did they put that stuff in mixed greens, anyway? Was it to make the other lettuce more delicious in contrast to its bitter awfulness?
    Smith said, “I was thinking about root beer floats. Still am, actually. We should share one tonight, in town.”
    “I'm not going.”
    He seemed surprised by this. I was too, since I'd been planning to go, but it did please me to tell him no, to disrupt his plans.
    “I know you want to go,” he said. “You've been in a mood all day, and you're being argumentative. You're such an only child. I should have hired someone who was raised with older siblings. They're much more malleable.”
    “How do you know I'm an only child? You don't know anything about me.”
    “I know plenty. I know you never wear your hair short.”
    I crossed my arms and waited for him to explain, but he didn't. He just smiled.
    He was right; I'd never had my hair short, but it was such an odd thing for him to say. Of course I wanted to know why he'd said it, but he wanted me to ask, so I was not going to bite. Try again, Smith.
    “You can stay behind and keep an eye on the cabin,” he said. “I may spend the night in town, and I'd feel better knowing someone was here, in case something happens.”
    I bit my lip. He was going to leave me there by myself, all night? Alone in the woods?
    “Fine, I'll come to town with you,” I said.
    He feigned innocence. “But I said I don't want you to come. Are you trying to be difficult? It's your only-child stubbornness, isn't it? Can't do anything unless you think it's your idea. Your first response is always a resounding no, before you've even considered the question.”
    “I'm not the difficult one. You are. What makes you say I've never had my hair short? Did you hack into my computer?”
    “I'm right, aren't I?”
    “Yes, Smith Wittingham. You are right. You're always right, because you're sooooo smart.”
    He closed his eyes and smiled. “Ah, I never tire of hearing that.”
    I unbuttoned my blouse and leaned forward on the table, hunching my arms in to create a deep crevice between my breasts.
    “Hey, Smith. How'd you like to put your cock … right here?” I licked my finger and plunged it down between my breasts.
    His mouth opened and closed. He cleared his throat and adjusted his position on the chair across from me.
    I nodded my head forward and looked up at him sideways. “I could put my mouth right here, for the tip. We could put some lotion or oil between my tits. I know you love my milk-white breasts. Wouldn't you love to fuck them?”
    He cleared his throat again, his left eye twitching.
    His voice low and gravelly, he said, “You're a wicked girl.”
    “Wouldn't you like to find out just how wicked I am?”
    He reached across the table, grabbing for my chest, but I quickly pulled back.
    “Not so fast. What's up with the haircut comment?”
    “Come sit on my lap and I'll tell you.”
    I got up slowly and walked around the long dining room table, then approached him and straddled his lap, pulling my blouse down in the front for a view.
    He buried his face in my chest and sighed. I combed my fingers through his thick, blond hair and massaged his scalp.
    Still with his face between my breasts, he said, “I'll give you a thousand dollars if you act like a filthy stripper and give me a lap dance right now.”
    “What is wrong with you?”
    His face was still hidden, against my skin. “Two thousand dollars.”
    I pushed his face away and climbed off his lap. “You're disgusting.” I shook my head, my hands waving around wildly, then fanning my face. “Are you into that stuff? Paying for sex?”
    “No.”
    “Then what the Hell, Smith?”
    He grinned. “I just wondered what you'd do. I should have started the bidding higher.”
    “No. And don't ever ask me to do something in exchange for money. Never again.”
    “Ooh, sensitive?”
    “I'm